


Mercury Wears Prada

by spacetaylor



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band), The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Dark Humor, Fashion Talk, John is Precious, M/M, freddie is miranda priestly, hint of jimercury of course, i love writing fics about movies, john is a dreamer, john is andy sachs, kudos are aprecciated, set in 2006, the devil wears prada!au, this is basically the first scenes of the devil wears prada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-23 20:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacetaylor/pseuds/spacetaylor
Summary: “Okay, so I was Freddie’s second assistant until the first assistant got promoted so now I’m the first.” Roger spoke up for the first time.“Oh! So you’re replacing yourself.” The redhead smiled.“I’m trying. Freddie slayed the last two mates after only two weeks. We need someone who can handle pressure, learns fast and, most importantly, someone who adapts quickly and knows how to survive hell. Am I making myself clear?”“Of-of course, yes.” A brief pause. “Um, who’s Freddie?”Roger looked like he wanted to vomit. “Oh my God, I’m going to pretend you did not ask me that. He’s Editor In Chief of Rhapsody, not to mention a legend. You work a year for him and you can get a job in any magazine or newspaper you want. A million mates would kill for this job without hesitating.”ORQueen (and its very gay members) as characters in The Devil Wears Prada, the movie (2006).ORA re-telling of The Devil Wears Prada, the 2006 movie.





	Mercury Wears Prada

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ya'll, it is I, mccartneysmercurys bring ye a good ol' fic based on one of my favorite moives: The Devil Wears Prada.  
I had the idea back when i was still writing Rory's Pies (another fic that i truly love and miss writing dearly).  
It's only one chapter and that's it. I don't have any plans on adapting the whole movie.  
I actually had to make a considerable amount of 2007's fashion research since i'm not much of a fashionista. My google history it's the strangest of them all (JK).  
Anyways, I hope you like it and have fun reading just like i did.  
Cheers everybody! xxx

*

John Richard Deacon knew many things.

As a matter of fact, he knew _a lot _of things.

He knew how many steps he needed to walk to get to the train station, he knew that his favorite meal was cheese on toast, he knew his favorite chocolate was black, but most importantly, he knew _exactly_ what he wanted to be and what he wanted to do once he left his hometown, Oadby in Leicester, and moved to London.

He wanted to be journalist.

He’d been preparing his whole life for it, actually. When he was in elementary school, he wrote advice columns to help teachers understand better the necessities of their young students, once he entered to high school he was managing director for a two years in the school’s newspaper (which was printed weekly). Once he graduated, he started to volunteer in the local newspaper until his boss saw so much potential in him that he made him editor in chief since the previous one had to resign due to personal reasons (he was having an affair with one of the secretaries, the wife discovered it all and he ran away).

It didn’t take long for John to discover that he wanted to be editor in chief for the rest of his life. His love for words was something out of this world, he needed to be able to tell stories, to bring fresh news to every single person in the planet and he knew that no matter how much it took, he was going to make it. He’d been preparing his whole life for this dream, he wasn’t going to let it go so easily.

Maybe, once he achieved the experience that he wanted to have, just _maybe _he could found his own newspaper, be the CEO of his own company and, with the time, be more prestigious than The New York Times. Of course you’d think he was aiming too high dreaming impossible things, after all, the first paper The Times ever published was around 1851, it was currently 2006 and it was still running, without any chance of falling, being the most popular newspaper all around the world. How could a recently graduated journalist compete with such monster?

Indeed, he was dreaming too much.

But it was those dreams what kept him alive his whole life.

And now, he was heading to London, the capital, trying his luck and work for a famous newspaper where everybody could see how much potential he had running through his veins. John was ready to conquer, he had years of practice for God’s sakes, it was practically a piece of cake. With his experience, it was a matter of _weeks _to find a decent job that could afford to pay the rent of a small flat in SoHo, pay the bills, buy some food and all the things that involved living on his own.

He was going to make it with top marks.

“Promise me you _are _going to call me once you land, baby.” His mum said, brushing some of his reddish hair out of his face which annoyed him a bit since mum had very little respect for his personal space. “It’s just- I don’t know, Deacy, it’s so hard for me to think that you’re going to be out there, in that big city that can probably eat you alive-”

“Nobody’s going to eat me alive, mum. Listen, we talked about this, alright? I need to live Oadby so I can be a successful journalist. Some birds need to live the nest, y’know.”

Mum rolled her eyes, pouting. “I just don’t see why you want to go. You had a perfectly good job in the local newspaper.”

The young man raised his eyebrows, closing his last suitcase. “Yeah, being chief editor in the world’s smallest newspaper and writing advice columns for men with erectile dysfunction and women with menopause.”

“John Richard Deacon you better watch that tongue of yours.” His mother warned, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Then, her green gaze softened, she couldn’t be mad at her son for wanting to follow his dreams, she needed to let him grow up even more and achieve everything he always wished for. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, love. It’s a big world you want to dive in, be careful.”

John smiled, kissing his mum’s cheek fondly. “Of course I will.”

*

Two months had passed and John barely had money to pay rent.

He wasn’t working in a newspaper, he was a waiter in a tea house downtown because, after sending all those resumes the moment he set foot on London, no one was interested enough to call. His savings were running out so he had to think quickly and, in the meantime, he decided be waitressing for a few months until someone gave him an opportunity. However, to be honest, he _knew _they weren’t going to. No one had any interest in hiring a -rather still- young journalist that came from a small town with barely enough population to be called town.

“Chins up, Deacks.” Ronnie, John’s co-worker said once their shift was over as they were walking towards her house. Deacy always volunteered to walk her home because London’s streets were rather dangerous at night for a young girl to be walking by herself. Besides, his flat was only a block away from hers so it was a win-win. “I’m sure someone will call eventually. Maybe you’re gonna be someone’s assistant and you’ll spend your whole day delivering tea or lunch or both which is pretty much the same you do at the tea house, but once they listen all the ideas you’ve got they’ll get to see all that potential you have and they’ll give you a go. Just don’t give up, alright?”

Ronnie was rather cheerful, she wanted to be a writer, which is why she comprehend John’s dream. They were both dreamers and, while she also worked as a waitress she was also looking for some publishing houses willing to give her manuscript a chance. John couldn’t thank her enough for always trying to make him feel better despite all the times he wanted to quit and go back to Oadby to his mother, to his easy peasy job as an editor in the world’s smallest newspaper but he didn’t come all the way from home just to give up.

He just needed to wait a bit more, not stopping believing, like that Journey song said.

So he did.

*

John finally got a call for an interview at Beach-Clarke Publishing at 8:00 a.m.

That morning, he made himself a fresh cup of Oolong Tea, some good ol’ cheese on toast as a morning snack, he dressed himself in a pair of black slacks with a dark grey with red pattern sweater that was knitted by his mum, who gave it to him as a birthday present. He decided to wear his long, red hair down trying his best to make it look more presentable by brushing it a couple times, not _that_ much since he didn’t want to frizz it too much.

John looked all his repertoire of columns, articles and reviews he wrote when he was at uni or some decent ones when he was in high school. He thought they would create a good impression to his interviewer so he or she could appreciate how experienced Deacy was, not only that but how _hungry _he was to start working the second they called him back.

Once he was on his way to one of the tallest buildings in London where Beach-Clarke Publishing was he stopped for an onion bagel and a coffee because it was rather cold and his dark coat didn’t do much to keep him warm or comfortable, not even his gray with white (also knitted by his mum) gloves could prevent his hands from freezing.

However, nothing would prepare him once he was in front of the building, staring at it with wide green eyes; he saw all this business men very fancy dressed with some Dolce and Gabbana suits, Ralph Lauren shoes or Nautica perfumes walking with such confidence, like the world was too small for them and he wished to get to feel like that one day as he kept on walking to the elevator which took him to the floor where his interview was going to be conducted.

Then he saw it, exhibited in huge, platinum, shiny letters. Resting on a cement-gray wall behind a woman’s head: RHAPSODY.

Yes, it was a fashion magazine and John Deacon certainly knew _absolutely _nothing about fashion, brands, red carpets or handsome models but it was going to be a fresh start that could catapult him to bigger, more wonderful things and eventually he could find the job he spent his whole life preparing to.

He approached the well-dressed receptionist, an Asian woman with exotic green makeup, trying to speak with as much confidence as he could (however, his voice came out rather pitchy, weird): “Hello, I’m here to see Roger Taylor-”

“JOHN DEACON?!” a blonde man asked arching an eyebrow, almost screaming, watching Deacy from head to toe with wide ocean eyes, looking so indignant by the mere sight of the visitor; John assumed he was Roger Taylor as he saw how elegantly dressed he was wearing an ankle-length long black skirt, knee-high black leather boots (with a thick, 10-centimeter heel) a white dress shirt, a waist-length dark blazer and a burgundy fresh, delicate scarf. He was also wearing some purple eyeshadow and a bit of glossy pink lipstick that you could barely notice. His golden locks were down, very well combed (unlike John’s).

“Yes. That’s me.” Deacy managed to answer.

Roger scoffed. “Great. Apparently human resources has a shitty sense of humor.” He laughed, much to John’s confusion. “Follow me. Quick.” He spat, immediately turning around, walking rather fast for wearing heels.

What is it with this men that don’t look like men at all? John thought it was only Roger who had a… _unique _fashion sense but, when he paid enough attention to every single guy working in the area, he did notice they all dressed so weird, wearing skirts or quite tight skinny trousers, using makeup, fierce eyeliner or heels higher than Roger’s. Don’t even get him started about women, wearing short pencil skirts or long, autumn season, dresses (that looked rather uncomfortable, Deacy thought). He looked so out of place using a pair of old slacks, knitted sweater and his father’s briefcase (that was a bit dusty he might add). For a second, he thought he didn’t belong there trying to make a good enough excuse to leave. However, he knew he couldn’t give up. What if nobody else called? What if he’s just misplacing his thoughts, taking a wrong decision? Maybe what he needed was to get a bit more familiarized with the job so he could start loving it.

Yeah, that must’ve been it.

There were clothes _everywhere, _people running around looking like they were in a hurry, phones ringing furiously, even a woman was crying and everything seemed like a very well contained chaos but that was _soon_ going to explode; how would John survive a week, gosh, how would he survive a _day _in that place without going completely insane? He had no idea, but he was sure of something which was that if he managed to stay long enough, he would make it to his dream job.

“Okay, so I was Freddie’s second assistant until the first assistant got promoted so now_ I’m_ the first.” Roger spoke up for the first time after he received Deacy.

“Oh! So you’re replacing yourself.” The redhead smiled.

Rog rolled his eyes. “Well I’m trying. Freddie _slayed _the last two mates after only _two _weeks. We need someone who can handle pressure, learns fast and, most importantly, someone who adapts quickly and knows how to survive hell. Am I making myself clear?”

John nodded so hard he thought his head would fall. “Of-of course, yes.” A brief pause. “Um, who’s Freddie?”

Roger looked like he wanted to vomit. “Oh my God, I’m going to pretend you did _not _ask me that. He’s Editor In Chief of Rhapsody, not to mention a _legend_. You work a year for him and you can get a job in any magazine or newspaper _you want. _A million mates would _kill _for this job without hesitating.”

The blonde pushed open a glass door, John found himself starting at two desks, one in front of the other and, down a medium sized hall, a huge office with minimalistic white furniture, Freddie’s, he supposed.

“We-well, it does sound like a great opportunity, I’d love to be considered.” The redhead stammered making Roger burst out in intense laughter.

“John, Rhapsody it’s a fashion magazine so let me make it a bit clear for you: interest in fashion it’s crucial.”

John arched an eyebrow, smiling. “What makes you think I’m not interested in fashion?”

The blonde looked Deacy from head to toe once again, hoping that would be enough answer; John wasn’t stupid, he _knew _what Roger meant. Even though he was scared shitless about this new job, he knew he was strong enough to get through it, he was sure of it.

Well, 90 percent sure to be exact… and counting.

Roger’s phone emitted a rather annoying sound which made the blonde stop looking at John to answer the call (just before rolling his eyes once again like a little boy would do because his parents didn’t but him the toy he wanted). “What? Oh My God no, no, _NO!” _he desperately yelled with an expression filled with horror printed all over his pretty face. He went on to his desk, pressing a button in the office’s phone and screaming through the speaker. “His on his way. TELL EVERYONE.”

John was standing there, in the middle of what seemed to be an exploding chaos. “What’s wrong?” he murmured, as a tall, skinny, _very _skinny figure opened the glass door. Deacy thought the man couldn’t possibly eat any calories, thinking that his diet consisted in eating lettuce and water only, maybe not even lettuce, maybe just an almond or chewing gum; the figure walked elegantly to Roger’s desk, he was carrying a white shoe box in one hand, some books in the other.

“For God’s sake, he was not supposed to be here until nine.” He complained as Rog fixed his makeup. The mysterious man didn’t even bother to notice John’s presence in the room; he was a tall mate, with brown, unruly curly hair. Deacy didn’t know what everyone’s obsession with black was, but the brunette mate was wearing an almost all-black outfit: dark trousers, dark shoes and a white turtle neck sweater.

“Well he is, his driver just texted me and, to make things worse his spa appointment was canceled- God this people-” Rog complained once again, knowing quite well what was expecting for him once Freddie arrived. Brian nodded and went on back to the door, seeing a distracted John (he was reading his own resume) pointing at him and gently whistling to the blonde, mouthing: ‘Who is this?’

“That I can’t even talk about. Not now.” Rog responded running a hand through his golden locks, then shaking his head in disapproval, making John frown.

“Alright everyone gird your loins!” the curly mate screamed once he opened the door. He frowned for a second, sniffing the air. “Did someone eat an onion bagel?” he asked more to himself than to John or anyone else, leaving hurriedly.

John looked horrified, covering his mouth as Roger went running from one small kitchen to Freddie’s office, he had a bottle of fresh mineral water and a glass in his delicate, pale hands. The blonde put said glass on Freddie’s transparent -minimal style- desk, pouring the water rapidly; Deacy looked through the door watching _every single _person running around frantically, accommodating rails of clothes, changing their comfortable shoes to some high, Chanel designed, stilettos or painfully looking Louis Vuitton boots, clearing out the mess on their desks. The amount of stress was unbelievable as John’s green eyes watched in almost a state of shock mixed with a tablespoon of confusion. Was the unexpected arrival of that so-called Freddie what got everyone so hurried and positively _panicked_?

Roger took five different fashion magazines from his desk just to walk rapidly to collocate them on Freddie’s desk by alphabetical order. Then, he ran at the speed of light to find his boss. There he was, the one and only Freddie Mercury taking off his fancy Prada shades, wearing a burgundy turtleneck, black tight leather slacks, dark ankle boots with a thick ten centimeter heel and a beautiful looking long fur coat, of course, also black (synthetic fur since he was a supporter of animal rights). All of the items belonged to the same ‘Autumn 2006’ Prada Collection.

The blonde wanted to take a breath for just a second but his boss was already talking.

“I don’t understand why is so hard to corroborate my spa appointment _one_ day before, I really needed it, Roger and those bastards cancelled.” He said elegantly with that characteristic soft voice of his, giving Roger some books he was carrying.

“I know, I’m so sorry Freddie, I actually _did _confirm-”

“The details of your incompetence do not interest me.” He said, without stopping his walk towards his office as the blonde handed him his schedule for the day. “Tell Hardy I’m not going to approve that girl he sent me for the Latin Layout, I asked for fresh, clean, athletic, smiley and he sent me dirty, tired and paunchy. Confirm my RSVP to the Karl Lagerfield party, tell my driver to drop me off at nine and then to pick me up at nine fifteen _sharp.”_

“Nine fifteen _sharp_.” Roger whispered to himself, scribbling Freddie’s list on his notes as fast as he could.

“Call Reid, tell him that ‘no, for the infinite time, _no’_ I don’t want his famous Paella for my anniversary dinner, I want Spanakopita or maybe some hanger steak with maybe some Cabarnet Sauvignon red wine. Then call my husband Jim ask him if he made reservations for brunch tomorrow morning, he’ll tell you no, because he forgets things too quickly so make them yourself at that nice little restaurant I went with Rami. Also, tell Gwilym I saw all the pictures he sent me for the ‘Winter in London Collection’ of his and tell him I found them _deeply _unattractive. Is it impossible to find a slender female model?”

Roger didn’t know if Freddie was asking that question to him but decided to answer it anyways. “Um, no.”

“Am I reaching for the stars here? No, not really. Also, I need to see all the things Brian has made for the second cover tryout. I wonder if that model he used has lost _any _of that weight yet- who’s that one?” the elegant man asked, taking his coat off and throwing it on Roger’s desk.

“Nobody.” The blonde replied quickly, then he shook his head. “I mean, human resources sent him for an interview for the assistant job and I was pre-interviewing him for you- but- he’s hopeless-” Roger tried to explain to his boss, who was sitting behind his minimalistic desk, taking a sip of his fresh water.

“Well sent him over, darling. I’m going to have to interview him myself since the last two persons you interviewed were absolutely dreadful, inadequate, one even left crying. So sent him in… that’s all.”

The assistant wanted to be swallowed by the earth or put his pretty blonde head through a hole. However, he constantly remind himself that he was a strong, independent man who wasn’t scared _at all _by his pretty menacing boss. He smiled weakly, nodding, murmuring a ‘right, okay’ more to himself than to Freddie, leaving his office to go and find John, who was sitting behind the desk. “John? She wants to see you. Move!”

“Oh!” the man said, completely scared (maybe a bit shocked too). Taking his resume paper and his father’s briefcase which was taken from him in a flash by a very annoyed Roger.

“This is foul. Don’t let him see it.” The blonde assistant sentenced before rolling his eyes and going to his desk as John walked slow but surely towards Freddie’s office, which was rather beautiful once he got a good look at it. The white wall at Fred’s left was filled with black and white nature photography, drawings of dresses or jewelry, pictures of himself with two little girls that looked a lot like him (he figured they were his daughters), photos with a man in a moustache smiling at him warmly (his husband, John presumed) there was a big window behind Freddie that let in a precise amount of light. The room was rather spacious, perfectly well decorated. On the Editor in Chief’s glass desk rested a bouquet of white roses with a note that only read: ‘have a great week! Love, -J’.

“Who are you?” the brunette man asked John.

“Oh, um- I’m John Deacon.” He replied, leaving his resume page on Freddie’s desk as the man ran a hand through his dark, shoulder length hair. “I recently graduated from Oxford University.”

Freddie arched and eyebrow. “And what are you doing here?”

“Well, I think I could do a great job as your assistant.”

The man scoffed. “Everyone does, darling.” He commented, unimpressed.

John sighed. “I came to London to be a journalist. It’s my dream and I have a lot of experience in the field. When I arrived I sent letter _everywhere, _got no answer until Miami-Clarke Publishing called me in for an interview. So… basically is this job or I’ll go back to waitressing.”

Freddie looked over at John for a second, then, he took a newspaper and started to read the pages. “So you don’t read Rhapsody.”

John was almost too afraid to answer. “Uh- I-uh… _no_.”

“And before you got the interview call, you didn’t know _anything _about… _me.”_

The man bit his lip, his heart was hammering inside his chest. “Umm… no.”

The newspaper looked so small in Freddie’s strong, yet quite delicate hands. “You don’t have any sense of style, fashion or hair brushing.”

John smiled. “Well, I think that depends-”

“No, no.” Freddie intervened, looking at him from head to toe just like Roger did. “It wasn’t a question, dear.”

Deacy cleared his throat, starting to tell Freddie his experience in the field, how he was an Editor In Chief himself, how he knew the pressure that position had, the responsibility it took or all the articles and columns he’d wrote in the past few years- _anything _would do in that moment to try and convince the one and only Freddie Mercury to hire him as his assistant. John preferred working to the man one thousand times over his job at the tea house. However, just when he was starting to tell him about his years as a writer in the Oxford University paper and the award he won for his research and article about climate change, Freddie interrupted him saying simply, without even bothering to look at him: “That’s all.”

John scoffed, turning around to leave feeling defeated thinking about going home to his mum and try to get his old job back until he realized that he didn’t want to do any of those things. He wanted a new job, he needed a fresh opportunity, a fresh start and he was going to get it no matter how much it took. He was never a quitter. Never. So, he turned on his feet to look at a concentrated-in-his-reading Freddie and said:

“Okay, alright. I don’t fit in here. I’m not as skinny as most of the mates or girls here. I don’t know anything about fashion, I’m not glamorous but… I’m smart, I learn fast, I’m responsible, I devote myself completely to my job and I’ll work very hard-” Deacy felt like he was in a movie, giving a convincing, inspiring speech to this important man in front of him that was looking at him with so much attention. That was until the tall, slender and curly haired man he saw earlier interrupted him, not caring about the fact that Freddie was busy, entering to the office and talking to said man about some exclusives for the magazine.

“What seems to be the problem Brian dear?”

“The problem is, with that feather hat the model is wearing, she looks like a bloody parrot.” He said, putting some cardboards on Freddie’s desk that had some pictures pasted on them. John stood there, being ignored and feeling like absolute shit, until he decided that he wouldn’t take it anymore, he wasn’t going to give up, no, instead he was going to wait for a better offer since he got rejected in the rudest way possible.

“Thank you… for your time.” He said smiling a bit, calling for both Brian and Freddie’s attention, who looked at him like he was an alien but not bothering to stay if they had anything else to say. He left quickly, listening to Brian saying: “Who is that sad little person? Are we doing a ‘before and after’ piece I don’t know about?”

*

Deacy got of the elevator with a defeated face. He knew a job as a second assistant in a fashion magazine as big as Rhapsody wasn’t exactly the kind of job he wanted but himself but at least he would’ve had an start of something new, exciting and an opportunity to keep scaling constantly until he reached the top. However, he was rejected by the one and only Freddie Mercury (who John didn’t knew anything before met him).

Mum always said that she was too afraid of following her own dreams so she encouraged him to follow his (even though she didn’t want John to leave his hometown), he wanted to make her feel proud about his decisions, about his life but nothing was turning out the way he supposed it would. Once again, John felt like yet another lonely, pathetic dreamer in a big city that wouldn’t let him shine. God, he was so sure he was going to get this job he even bought a bottle of the cheapest champagne he could afford to share with Ronnie and Joe (another coworker who wanted to be an actor) over dinner.

_‘Huh. Guess that’s not going to happen anymore.’ _John thought as he kept on walking slowly, sadly. He knew that being a journalist in such a big city wasn’t going to be easy, he _really _did knew. However, what he _didn’t_ knew was that it was going to be also painful.

“John!” he heard Roger’s bit raspy voice yelling at him. Deacy’s heart lit up like a Christmas tree with brand new lights as he turned around to see the blonde rolling his eyes, once hundred percent done with the entire situation. “You’re hired I guess.” Roger said once John was close enough.

“Really?!”

The blonde sighed heavily, starting to walk to the elevators, followed by Freddie’s newest second assistant.

“Yes. Don’t act so thrilled about it and walk fast before he changes his opinion.” he replied, pressing one of the elevators buttons; John’s heart was beating so hard inside his chest he thought it was going to explode with emotion, pride and sheer _happiness._

It seemed like this day wasn’t going to be so bad at all.

Or so he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it!  
I'm going to be posting more fics soon, so please stay tuned! xxx  
Moodboard is made by me and can be download it at my tumblr: samanthamay.tumblr.com  
Kudos and comments are ALWAYS appreciated.  
See you soon! xxx


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